


Not His Best Moment

by crimsonseekers



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Bodyswap, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mutual discovery of pining, Prowl needs to shut his mouth, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, but it all works out in the end, just a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22536562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonseekers/pseuds/crimsonseekers
Summary: Wheeljack's newest exploding invention lead to a series of events that was simultaneously the most awkward and best experience of Jazz's life.
Relationships: Jazz/Soundwave
Comments: 12
Kudos: 126





	Not His Best Moment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheAwkwardEnthusiast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAwkwardEnthusiast/gifts).



> For TheAwkwardEnthusiast, super cool JazzWave enthusiast, and the winner of my 100 follower giveaway on twitter!
> 
> "Jazz/Soundwave. And, uh, accidental body swap in which they both end up discovering that they've got mutual crushes on one another with a dash of smut?"

Jazz hadn’t exactly been expecting to see Soundwave when he barreled into Wheeljack’s lab looking for the new stereo the scientist had promised (Jazz kept blowing out commercial ones, and Wheeljack _promised_ that the new one he was making would give bass loud enough to feel in your spark).

“Sounders!” he crowed in greeting, striding as confidently as he could across the room. “What brings ya to Jackie’s lab this fine morning?”

Soundwave inclined his helm in his direction, though Jazz was unable to figure out what _any_ of the communications mech’s movements meant. “Soundwave: borrowing tools for communications console.”

“And Shockwave wouldn’t let you borrow his, I take it?”

“Shockwave’s got a rod up his aft,” Wheeljack piped in, fiddling with an odd machine, which instantly worried Jazz - Wheeljack fiddling with odd machines usually ended in explosions. “Soundwave needs some of my finer screwdrivers - just waiting for me to finish up.”

“Wheeljack: very accommodating.”

“That’s Wheeljack for ya!” Jazz laughed. “Nice as they come!”

Wheeljack’s finials flashed a soft pink, and his shoulders hunched as he coughed awkwardly. “I dunno, Bumblebee’s prob’ly the nicest one of us all. Not me.”

“Bee’s sweet, but he’s a lil’ gremlin if you take your optics off of him for more than a second.”

“Bumblebee: extraordinary nuisance on Decepticon base during the war,” Soundwave agreed.

“A ‘course! Trained him myself!” Jazz preened, glancing out the corner of his visor at Soundwave, who simply huffed his vents slightly. Was that a laugh? Jazz counted it as a laugh. “Reminds me - whatcha been up to since the peace? Don’t see you nearly as much anymore, Sounders,” and _Primus_ was it a trial to keep his disappointment about it out of his voice.

“Soundwave: works with Blaster in construction of planet-wide communication lines.”

“‘N both of ya manage to work together without tearing each others faces off in rivalry?” Jazz had to admit that it was a bit odd to actually have a _conversation_ with the other former SpecOp officer - they’d been on each other’s peripheral for millions of years, but never really _talked._

“Disagreements: occasional.”

And perhaps it was Jazz’s fascination with finally talking to someone he’d always been forced to admire from afar that he didn’t notice Wheeljack’s funky machine beginning to smoke, and his only warning was the scientists frantic _“GET DOWN!”_ before he was sent flying across the room by an explosion.

* * *

“No, Ratchet, seriously, I’m fine!” Jazz insisted, trying to wave the medic’s scanner away and failing. “It’s not even that bad, just a few dents my self-repair will pop out in a few hours!”

“‘I’m fine,’” Ratchet said mockingly. “Pfft. Rich words from the one who liked to call shredded plating ‘surface wounds.’”

“Plating is on the surface, therefore, a surface wound!”

“Soundwave: recommends silence before Ratchet forces it.”

“And _you,”_ Ratchet growled, spinning around to start in on Soundwave, “better not be trying to read my mind before I check you for processor damage.”

Jazz was then summarily kicked out of the med bay, the door sliding shut behind him.

“Was that _Soundwave_ in there?” a familiar voice asked a moment later.

Jazz looked up from his sprawl on the floor to glare at the smug look being thrown at him but accepted the hand up anyway. “Shut up, Prowl.”

The tactician-turned-city manager smirked as he hauled Jazz up to his feet. “Just ask him out on a date, the chances of him saying yes are well over ninety percent.”

“I had my first actual conversation with him interrupted by an explosion, and then got picked up by Ratchet like a kitten and thrown outta the med bay onto my hide. How are the chances over _zero_ percent?”

“Because you’re both oblivious and absolutely pathetic.”

“Thanks for the confidence booster.”

“Install some bearings and get back to me on that.”

* * *

When Jazz woke up the next morning, he was immediately hit by a sense of _wrongness._ He laid still in his berth - perhaps a home-invader of some sort? That illusion only lasted in his mind for a short moment before he registered just how _wrong_ his frame felt. Jazz had never experienced any sort of frame-dysphoria, but as he registered the sudden itch of his spark to be _out,_ he understood why Ratchet’s lessons (lectures and rants) about choosing an _appropriate_ frame whenever they redid their alt modes were so important.

Jazz onlined his visor and brought a hand up to rub at his chest, and was immediately struck by two things that he found vitally important.

One: the room he was in was _not his berth room._ It was certainly someone else’s - the layout was different and was notably sparser than Jazz kept his own (to quote Prowl, a disaster, to quote Blaster’s cassettes, a miniature playground).

Two: he touched his chassis only to feel a flat expanse of glass where there would have normally been a bumper. It perhaps said something about Jazz that it was the “oh wait this _definitely_ isn’t my frame” thing that he was more worried about than his possible kidnapping.

Jazz looked down at himself, and a sinking feeling settled into his (his?) tank like lead. 

He scrambled out of the recharge berth, and quietly as he could (his weight was all _off_ and he almost hit his head and _wow_ is this what it’s like to be tall?) sneaked to the washracks. He wasn’t sure where the cassettes slept, but he’d woken up relatively early.

Barely restraining himself from panicking by the time he looked into the mirror, Jazz only let out a sound of garbled static as the situation fully set in.

Soundwave.

Jazz was _Soundwave._

Jazz’s first instinct was to panic loudly - but that was somewhat undoable since he didn’t want to figure out how to work this problem around Soundwave’s cassettes. His next instinct was to call himself (or at least, whoever was in his frame [likely Soundwave, and wasn’t _that_ a weird thought]) or perhaps Prowl to figure it out, but then he realized that he never memorized his own comm frequency, or Prowl’s for that matter - they’d always been saved in his contacts and he generally just pinged his frequency if anyone needed it.

When the crisis he was in was over (Jazz refused to think of ‘if’ because this was _colossally_ weird and he didn’t want to think about what this would do to his ‘over ninety percent chance’) Jazz vowed to memorize every important number he had because he’d never felt more like an idiot.

His inability to contact anyone remotely left Jazz with one option: he’d have to go track down somebody to help him himself. Which meant leaving Soundwave’s apartment and trying to traverse across Iacon to either his _own_ apartment to hopefully find Soundwave/himself there, or to find Ratchet or Prowl or somebody who could figure out what was happening or find someone who _could._ Without damaging Soundwave’s reputation or drawing suspicion. 

Jazz snuck out of the apartment (he wasn’t even fully sure the cassettes were _there,_ but better safe than sorry) as quietly as he was able to with such a boxy frame, and ran down the stairs, trying to not trip over his feet or stumble with his newly acquired height.

Exiting the building, Jazz was thankful that it was early - the street was relatively empty, and he luckily recognized where he was. Running through the streets of Iacon in his head, Jazz decided that it would be faster to hurry to the Capitol building and hope Prowl was already at his desk and have Prowl call _him_ (or rather, Soundwave who was probably in his frame) to try and figure this out. Yep, that sounded good.

Jazz leaped, initiating his transformation sequence, preparing to race off to the Capitol…

Only to fall to the ground, roughly bouncing off, and slowly clacking to a stop a moment later.

Right. He was Soundwave. Soundwave didn’t have wheels, which meant _he_ didn’t have wheels.

This would take a bit longer than he thought.

* * *

It was a little over an hour later that Jazz was running past confused looks in the hallways of the Capitol (that he usually didn’t get, but then again, he was Soundwave, and Soundwave didn’t tend to move faster than a brisk walk unless it was an emergency).

Barreling into Prowl’s office much like he had Wheeljack’s lab just a scant day earlier, Jazz wilted as he realized he had been beaten there.

By Soundwave.

More specifically, Soundwave in his frame, which was _still_ a really weird thing to think about and Jazz didn’t _like_ thinking about it, but staring at his own frame being ramrod straight with an odd, blank look on his (Soundwave’s?) face, it was hard to avoid.

“Ah, Soundwave,” Prowl started, addressing Jazz (which was _weird)_.

“Yeah,” Jazz started, not quite able to repress the shudder that went up his struts at hearing Soundwave (or himself, but the semantics of the situation were _deeply_ confusing) talk in such a casual way, even with the odd harmonics, “about that.”

Prowl gave him a flat, deeply unimpressed look, before turning to look at Soundwave (looking at his frame and thinking of it as _Soundwave_ was weird as well, but two hours into that disaster of a day and Jazz supposed he should have stopped caring by then). “Look, if this is some sort of new couple get together prank, I apologize for teasing you about your crush, but this is extremely juvenile and a waste of both my time and Soundwave’s.”

Soundwave made a startled noise. _“Crush?”_

“Listen, Sounders,” Jazz started, gentling placing his hands on Soundwave’s shoulders _(weird),_ “why don’t you just wait outside for a moment, and I’ll deal with Prowl.” The smaller (hopefully only temporarily because looking down at himself was, again, super weird) mech compliantly and numbly followed his push to wait out in the hall, and Jazz closed the door behind him.

“Prowl, listen, me and Soundwave really did switch frames, and I have no idea what to do about it.” Prowl sighed and tapped his stylus on the edge of his desk annoyedly.

“Soundwave, I apologize for Jazz attempting to rope you into his pranks, but there is simply no need for you to continue attempting to fool me. Please leave.”

“Fine,” Jazz snapped (and _wow_ did Soundwave’s vocalizer lend itself to being threatening. Jazz could dig it). “I’ll tell you something only Jazz would know.”

“Is this really necessary, Soundwave?”

“Just try. If I can’t answer, I’ll leave.”

Prowl stared at him scrutinizingly for another long few moments before speaking again. “First time we met, back in the enforcers: what was the very first thing you said to me?”

Jazz could feel his face heat underneath his mask - Prowl could not have chosen a more awkward question, could he (on second thought, he could have - they’d known each other so long that Prowl had caught Jazz in a number of compromising and blackmail worthy positions)?

“…’Wanna go out for a drink sometime, sweet wings?’”

Prowl smirked. “And then I threw a table at you.”

“Believe me now?”

“I suppose I have to,” Prowl said, leaning back in his chair. “You were embarrassed enough by it that you refused to even look me in the optic for a few vorn, let alone tell Soundwave about it on a first date for a prank of some sort.”

“Yeah, we’re also not dating either. Haven’t spoken to Soundwave since med bay yesterday.”

“You’re not?” Prowl asked after a moment. Jazz shook his head. “And I just…?”

“Told him about my massive crush because you thought I asked him out and got him in on some sort of revenge prank? Kinda.”

“… Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“I suppose I’ll contact Wheeljack and Ratchet to help figure this out before this becomes anymore complicated.”

“Ya made it weird enough already.”

* * *

Jazz didn’t really get a chance to try and amend his probably burned bridge with Soundwave for a few hours - it was a whirl of Ratchet and Wheeljack examining their sparks, Ratchet shouting at Wheeljack, and Ratchet shouting at Jazz and Soundwave for not contacting him _immediately_ (and Jazz’s weak explanation of not having his frequency memorized somehow did not calm the angry medic).

Apparently Wheeljack had been working on a teleporter of some kind, and the explosion the previous day had actually _switched_ their sparks - and the memories ingrained in their sparks overtook the ones written in their processors over the course of the night cycle as they recharged, and woke up in different bodies. When Jazz, and subsequently, Soundwave, informed Ratchet of the spark itch they apparently both felt, the medic let out one more virulent stream of curses and told them to both stay put while he began prepping the surgery room for a simultaneous spark transfer (and booted Wheeljack out of the med bay).

“So…” Jazz began, slowly and awkwardly as Ratchet and First Aid bustled about the med bay. “About what Prowl said before I pushed ya outta his office…”

“Prowl: referenced supposed attraction to Soundwave.” (Soundwave’s cadence in his voice? Weird.)

Jazz cough awkwardly - though it sounded odd in Soundwave’s voice. “Yeah, uh, it’s less like ‘supposed attraction’ and more like ‘raging attraction.’”

Soundwave stared at Jazz, the moment made more unsettling by the fact that the blank look he was faced with was his own face, and Jazz just wanted the day to be over so he could crawl back into his berth and die of embarrassment because it seemed like the less mortifying option.

“I get that you don’t feel the same and I don't want to make anything awkward, so I totally get it if you want to pretend that today never happened and I’ll never mention it again,” Jazz said in a rush after a few moments, determinedly staring a hole through the floor because there was absolutely no way he could look Soundwave in the optic ever again.

A moment passed.

Then two.

Then three.

“Attraction: mutual.”

Jazz snapped his head up to look at Soundwave (himself? Primus, the entire situation was a circus), who looked back at him steadily, but seemed to be fiddling with his thumbs? Nervousness. Soundwave was nervous - the clearest tell Jazz had ever seen on the mech.

“Oh, thank Primus,” was what Jazz said before he could come up with something more intelligent or suave to say.

They stared at each other for another awkward moment before Jazz collected enough of his thoughts to say something else. “I’d ask if I could kiss you, but that seems a bit weird given the situation,” (Primus, Jazz was making it _weirder),_ “so I’ll just ask if you wanna get together sometime after this?”

“Alright you two,” Ratchet called across the med bay. “Get your afts here before your sparks reject your frames and kill you both.”

“Affirmative,” Soundwave answered, a slight smile on his face as they both hurried across the room before Ratchet threw his wrench at them.

* * *

It was a few days after the whole body-swap fiasco that Jazz finally got a hold of Soundwave’s comm frequency and invited him over to his apartment - he’d gotten Blaster to send it to him while he was on mandatory rest after a frame replacement. Well, it wasn’t _exactly_ a frame replacement, but the entire situation had needed so many stupid semantics to think about properly that Jazz didn’t exactly care too much at that point.

But yeah, he invited Soundwave over. Not exactly a five-star first date, but Jazz hoped it would suffice.

“So,” Jazz started slowly, as he always seemed to be doing. They were both sat on Jazz’s couch, turned slightly toward each other, neither really sure what to do. “We both like each other, then.”

“Affirmative.”

“Because I’m just that sexy?” Jazz asked, half-jokingly and half for validation.

Soundwave nodded. “Jazz: charming and attractive.”

Jazz’s engine made a choked sound, and he weakly whacked Soundwave’s shoulder in reprimand. “Ya can’t just say things like that outta nowhere.”

“Negative. Statements: true.”

“Primus, Soundwave,” Jazz whined, hiding his flushed face in his hands. “‘M tryna be all suave and slag and ya’re messing me up. ‘M _tryna_ be cool here.”

“Jazz: desired as is.”

“Oh my God,” Jazz whispered, peeking through his fingers at a smug-looking Soundwave. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Negative.”

Soundwave still looked pleased with himself (and, Jazz was happy to note, more relaxed with the situation). Fine. Two could play at that game.

Mustering up all the cool, suave, and sexy special agent energy he could Jazz shifted to swing himself to the side, and straddled Soundwave’s hips for a moment before sitting back on the communication mech’s legs. Soundwave jerked oddly as Jazz settled himself in his lap.

Fair was fair, Jazz thought to himself, confidence in his actions swinging up again.

“Now,” he started, letting himself smirk a little as he tilted his face towards Soundwave’s. “We’re both back in our frames, so I think I’m gonna ask for that kiss now. You up for it?”

There was a beat before Soundwave nodded jerkily, faceplate snapping back into his helm with a soft _snikt._

Jazz smiled, tilted his head, and caught Soundwave’s soft lips with his own, and if he had to rank it against all other kisses he’d had there wouldn’t even be competition, because he couldn’t even _think_ when Soundwave pressed back against him, one hand curling around his back and began to caress his struts, the other coming up to cradle Jazz’s head, pressing both of them into the kiss.

Jazz _moaned_ when Soundwave’s hand began to stroke his sensory horns, rolling his hips into Soundwave’s as an involuntary shudder ran through his frame at the sensation. Soundwave ran his glossa across Jazz’s lips, and Jazz let his mouth open against his partner’s eagerly. They were both beginning to run hot by that point, and Jazz broke away for a second, still shivering as the attention to his sensory horn did not stop.

“Think we both know where this is headed,” Jazz said matter-of-factly, ignoring the slight static that laced his voice. “You cool with this?”

“Soundwave: _highly_ interested in predicted activities.”

Jazz smirked, letting himself purr in response as he began to roll his hips against Soundwave’s more actively, hands roaming his frame. He hiccuped when Soundwave bucked back up against him, and a lecherous smile crossed his features, and leaned back down and nipped his lip before tilting his head to whisper, “Why don’t you open up and we can get this going, then?”

Soundwave rumbled and caught his lips again. Jazz looked up at him, who look as heated and debauched in such a position as Jazz felt.

Shifting his hands to Soundwave’s shoulders, Jazz lifted himself up and pressed closer to the other's frame.

“Now,” Jazz purred, leaning his helm against Soundwave’s, “let’s get you in me without any more weird science experiments, hm?”

**Author's Note:**

> Fun notes:  
> 1) foreplay getting cut off before it becomes full-blown smut because haha my vanilla self loves reading kink fic but blushes furiously whenever I write a makeout that gets a bit handsy.
> 
> 2) this was originally going to be a POV swap fic (that changed because it was a bit janky) and feature a scene of soundwave going 'how hard can driving be' and almost causing several pile-ups.
> 
> Anyway, I hope this was an enjoyable fic! It was super fun to brainstorm and write!


End file.
